Chapter 4
The morning sun struggled to pierce the thick, grey autumn clouds hanging heavily over the Ashford estate. Inside the mansion, the festive Thanksgiving atmosphere had been completely stripped away, replaced by the grim, hyper-vigilant reality of a mafia stronghold bracing for a siege. Heavily armed guards in tactical gear patrolled the grand hallways, their boots echoing sharply against the marble floors.
Nina was seated in a luxurious guest suite in the secure east wing. The fitted black maid dress and rumpled apron had been discarded by Roman’s strict orders. She now wore a soft, charcoal-grey cashmere sweater and tailored dark trousers. Her hair was neatly brushed, falling smoothly over her shoulders. Owen sat beside her on the massive bed, watching a cartoon on a tablet, his round cheeks flushed with the warmth of the room.
The heavy oak door opened, and Roman walked in, accompanied by his most trusted capo, a towering, scarred man named Dante. Roman had traded his three-piece suit for a dark tactical turtleneck and a shoulder holster, his heavy pistol resting snugly against his ribs. The small neck tattoo was stark against his pale skin.
"The perimeter is locked down, Boss," Dante reported, his gruff voice filling the room. "We’ve pulled our men from the southern supply lines to reinforce the estate. Victor Mercer sent an envoy an hour ago."
"What did Victor want?" Roman asked, his dark eyes never leaving Nina as he crossed the room.
"He demands a formal sit-down on neutral ground," Dante recited, his face a mask of disgust. "He says if you don't show up to answer for the disrespect, he will unleash his hitters on the city."
Nina’s heart spiked with instant panic. She stood up, walking quickly to Roman and grabbing his forearm. "Roman, you can't go. It's a trap. He wants to kill you away from your guards."
Roman’s jaw tightened. He looked down at her delicate hands clutching his arm, then up into her clear, expressive eyes. The sheer terror in her gaze made his chest ache.
"If I refuse a sit-down, I lose the respect of the Commission," Roman explained, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "They will see it as weakness. I have to go, Nina. I have to look him in the eye and officially declare the terms of this war."
"Please," Nina begged, tears welling in her eyes. "They have an army. They will slaughter you."
"I have survived worse odds," Roman murmured. He stepped closer, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pulling her flush against his broad chest. He ignored the presence of his capo, focusing entirely on the woman in his arms. "I need you to listen to me. I will leave Dante and his best men to guard this hallway. You are not to leave this suite under any circumstances."
"I'm scared," she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his cologne and the cold metallic tang of his weapon.
"I know," he said, pressing a fierce, lingering kiss to the top of her head. "But I need you to be brave for Owen. If anything happens, Dante has orders to take you both to the underground bunker."
"Promise me you'll come back," Nina pleaded, looking up at him, her hands gripping his turtleneck.
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"I swear it on my life," Roman vowed. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a sudden, desperate kiss. It was a kiss forged in the fires of impending war, tasting of urgency and profound, undeniable devotion.
When he pulled away, he offered a reassuring smile to Owen, who waved happily from the bed. Roman turned and strode out of the room, Dante following closely behind. As the heavy door clicked shut, the reality of the mafia war pressed in on Nina. She was no longer watching from the sidelines; she was the very heart of the storm.
